


simulacra

by VermillionHairedPoet



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Mental Breakdown, Misogyny, Multi, Murder, Public Humiliation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-05 19:56:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15178169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VermillionHairedPoet/pseuds/VermillionHairedPoet
Summary: "Things were going very fast now. Too fast to suit him. Fantasy and reality had merged." ーStephen King





	1. preface

**simulacra**

_a fanfiction by Vermillion Haired Poet_

 

 

“ _The Son is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn over all creation. For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or powers or rulers or authorities; all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together.”_

 

_Colossians 1:15-17_

 

* * *

 

 

**simulacra**

_**July 8 th, 2018** _

 

_7 a.m._

_8 a.m._

_1 p.m._

_3 p.m._

_6 p.m._

_epilogue_

 

* * *

 

**Proofreading by Maureen**

 

* * *

 

**CAUTION(S)**

 

  * This fanfiction is not spoiler-free.
  * It is advised to complete Mystic Messenger, or at least knowing the entire story and endings, before proceeding to read.
  * TRIGGER WARNING: See tags 




	2. 7 a.m.

**simulacra**

 

 

[ˌsim-yə-ˈla-krə,]

_Something that replaces reality with its representation_

 

 

**July 8** **th** **2018 – 07.00 a.m.**

 

I woke up by the ringing phone, the air conditioning not seeming to work due to overwhelming summer. Petrichor hit my nose as I checked the weather on my phone’s homescreen, signaling the impending rain soon to pour down into the asphalt.

 

Looking out towards the window, it is indeed cloudy outside.

 

“Pretty accurate, weather app. Kudos to you.”

 

Thumb gliding, scrolling through my notifications – spam email, more spam mail, work related chats – seems like someone is going to ignore it unless mentioned or called – more spam mail from a subscription, and… someone tagged me on _Facebook;_ must be memes.

 

I hit the clear button and all notifications disappeared. A bold move of trying to delay any kind of communication done in a single touch. And somehow, this overly nosy society of ours, can accept this behavior.

 

“I’m going to deal with all of these later.”

 

As I walked to my closet to choose my outfit of the day for work, my phone’s LED blinked, a new chat coming.

 

“Geez.”

 

But I unlocked my phone and checked the notification anyway.

 

 

Notifications :

_ZEN :_ _Good morning, Princess! ;) Breakfast is prepared on the dining table, please come over before it gets cold <3 _

_ZEN :_ _And don’t forget we have a shooting today. Let’s do our best! I know I can make it through with you by my side~_

 

Half unconsciously smiling at the incoming chat, I tapped the notification, instantly opening the RFA messenger.

 

I checked the chatroom –

 

it was empty.

 


	3. 8 a.m.

**simulacra**

 

 

[ˌsim-yə-ˈla-krə,]

_Something that resembles reality_

 

 

 

**July 8** **th** **2018 – 08.00 a.m.**

 

 

_“In History Today, July 8_ _th_ _. Seventy years ago, in 1948, The United States Air Force created the program ‘Women in the Air Force’, where for the first time they recruited women to serve in the military with limited roles. This program ended in 1976, when women were accepted into the military in equal basis with men.”_

 

_“Ding!”_

 

My thumb stopped scrolling on the news as I heard the microwave sound through the news podcast, flowing through the air without anyone really listening, as if it was only there to fill the silence of living alone. The heavenly scent of curry is slowly spreading into the air as I walked to the microwave, opening it, revealing a magnificent work of mine – heated dinner’s leftovers.

 

Bringing the food to the table, a little bit too big for me to eat alone at, I grabbed a glass to fill it with some orange juice, but left in the fridge were only some cans of Dr. Pepper.”

 

“Guess I have no choice.”

 

But as I grabbed a can, a moment of epiphany hit me. “Why did this particular drink remind me of someone, or in particular, something I have to do that has to do with this someone?”

 

Mind still too hazy from oversleeping, it went blank for a while before the strange bug from this morning popped in my mind.

 

“Oh. I have to tell Seven about the bug.”

 

I tapped on the RFA Messenger icon, and went to its call feature. I looked for Seven’s name in my call log (bad habits die hard. Besides, it’s more convenient to search from the call log than from the contact menu– or it’s simply about habit, I guess), and half-desperately, half-indifferently, press the call button.

 

I placed the phone to my ear but…

 

There was only static.

 

I checked the screen –

 

Did it just glitch?

 

I tried to place it on my ear again –

 

An abrupt noise, loud enough to blast my ears off, and;

 

The messenger was force-closed.

 

 

“Snap it’s already nine thirty. Why didn’t my ‘go-to-work’ alarm ring?”

 

I didn’t have enough time to deal with any shady RFA business right now.

 

 

“I’m going.”

 

 

 

My voice echoed in the large, empty room.

 

 

 

In my head.


	4. 1 p.m.

**simulacra**

 

 

[ˌsim-yə-ˈla-krə,]

_Something that replaces reality_

 

 

 

**July 8** **th** **2018 – 1.00 p.m.**

 

 

In this world that left expression of sentimental feelings not forgiven and deemed as unprofessional unless it was poured into a form of appreciated art or campaigns for any causes appealing to the power and authority. In the realm where we cannot undo what we have said or done, in this non-anonymous society where our very names are held accountable for our deeds, whatever that may be... Among such deeply flawed, contradicting, yet very human flocks of people, a massive, highly structured city was born in the air, a world accessible from our devices, not even bigger than a brick.

 

The internet.

 

Some people say it is merely a representation of our world, our society, ourselves… Hence— a ‘simulacrum’. Some deny it and state that the invisible world of the internet is indeed the very part of our world and not in a way as low as a simulacrum. That it is as valid as the ‘real world’ we live in.

 

I rolled my eyes, skeptically hissing at the term ‘real world’ – do they really think the internet is a fictional realm or something?

 

But – should I even think this deeply about it?

 

After all, it is such a joyous, abundant world for the truthful and the liars alike.

 

We can pretty much be anyone we want… We can create our own personas, mold it into the ‘us’ we have always longed to be. It is indeed a wonderland where we have free choice to become a beautiful lie. It is a fulfilling place where side characters are able to play the role of the main character. Throwing bad words at each other without our names being tarnished, or hiding all our humane greed, envy, and ego away – playing around as a loving, peaceful, perfect pacifist.

 

Yet it is as truthful as it is full of lies. In this world where people are always expected to act, think, and feel a certain way, the realm of the internet is indeed no less than a liberation, an honest world where revolution sparks and people’s sense of individuality is awakened and sprouting. If our physical body living in this physical world were to be our simulacrum, if we have been living dishonestly to ourselves all along, the internet is indeed a sanctuary for our very authentic self to beautifully flourish.

 

Our simulacra can be anything, for humans can be anything, until the point where they become indistinguishable;

 

Pathetic to the point it’s laughable—

 

But now I have drowned a little too deep in that dreamy realm.

 

 

Deep in thoughts, Lady Gaga’s “Telephone” slowly echoes through the café. I scrolled down my Facebook timeline, notebook on the coffee table as I wrote some random stories to help me cope with my boredom.

 

Ah, didn’t I tell you today is Sunday? Guess who thought it was a work day.

 

Foot lightly tapping on the floor catching up to the song’s beat, an abrupt silence followed as the music stopped, and a newsflash flowed through the coffee-scented, calming air.

 

_“South Korean National Police Agency has arrested the leader and members of The Mint Eye Cult. This cult is suspected of illegal drugs use, abductions, torture, and other illegal practi—”_

 

“Iced Cappuccino. Hope you enjoy your cup of coffee,” the waitress smiled kindly as she put a glass full of coffee on my table.

 

“Thank you,” thanking her without even looking at her. I was about to reach for my phone when I accidentally saw her face— wait.

 

_Is that me? Like— an exact copy of me?_

 

I’d been staring at her face in disbelief for about five seconds, before she broke the awkward, unsettling ice between us.

 

“Do you need some help, miss? Would you like to order anything else?”

 

Still smiling at me with such attentive gaze I would never be able to pull off no matter how hard I try. The more I stared at her, the more I was sure that she was, with no doubt, me.

 

The way that hair waves and falls. That face. Even the length and shape of her nails, painted in the same hue as me. And ugh— face painted in makeup exactly the same way my face was right now—an extreme resemblance too uncanny to ignore.

 

“W-why do you look… exactly the same as me?”

 

I hesitantly ended my question in half-whisper. One second, two seconds had passed— I couldn’t even bring myself to look her right in the eyes anymore. Hanging my head to avoid her gaze at its best, but I could see from the corner of my eyes that she hadn’t even moved a bit, looking like she is thinking of the right answer, or she might as well be as shocked as me.

 

Three seconds. I had gathered enough courage to face her properly. I raised my face…

 

But she just stood there, smiling. It was either a smile full of emotion, or a terrifyingly emotionless one. Then she walked her way back to the open counter.

 

“Jaehee- _unni,_ have you done the order for table three?”

 

…J-Jaehee?

 

“Yes. And for table five, too.”

 

I… recognized that voice. That velvety, soothing, yet fierce voice. Making sure of the voice’s owner, I raised my gaze to the two women. My unwanted doppelganger and the woman who turned out to be exactly who I expected her to be, were giggling playfully, gaily, as they exchanged gazes and occasional whispers.

 

Petrified, I immediately stood up from my chair, which caused it to fall down to the floor with a loud thump.

 

Damn. She noticed and now she was walking towards me.

 

_‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.’_

 

“...Are you alright, miss?”

 

_‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.’_

 

“Do you need some… help?”

 

_‘Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop. STOP.’_

 

Putting an amount of money on the table, enough to pay for more than two cups of coffee, I stormed out of the café.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And a sun shower poured down.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. 3 p.m.

**simulacra**

 

 

[ˌsim-yə-ˈla-krə,]

_Something that becomes reality_

 

 

 

**July 8** **th** **2018 – 3.00 p.m.**

 

I rushed my way out of the café, running as fast as I could among the Sunday hustle bustle. My hair was slightly damp from the sun shower and my own cold sweat rolling down my forehead as I made my way among the crowd, bumping into a few people in the process.

 

It smelled of sun, soil, and impending doom.

 

Not that I care anyway—

 

Until I stumbled down after another bumping.

 

“Ouch!”

 

My head hit the road and dizziness struck me as I felt a drop of what must be blood rolling down my head.

 

“A-are you okay? I’m sorry I didn’t see you! I was talking to my wife, my bad.”

 

The man I bumped into offered his hand to me. I mustered a little strength to look up at him, but the only thing I could see is was his silhouette, illuminated by the scorching sun.

 

“You are bleeding! Do you want us to take you to the hospital?”

 

—wait.

 

“Huh? Bleeding? Sweetheart, I don’t see any blood on her. Where is she bleeding?”

 

Not this again.

 

I immediately parted my hands with the man as I stood up, almost falling down due to the mild vertigo, but at least now I could see them clearly.

 

Yoosung and a woman that looked _exactly_ like me.

 

I clutched the bleeding side of my head.

 

“Wait!”

 

I ran away. As far as I could.

 

I could feel that I twisted my ankle, but nothing could beat how twisted the situation I encountered today was.

 

I ran. I ran through all the paths I could take without even bothering to navigate. I took alleys by alleys, nameless roads undocumented in any maps, taking both crowded and light, empty ways.

 

I just needed to get out of this situation. I just wanted to go home.

 

After a good fifteen minutes of running, I finally arrived at a very large, crowded intersection more or less three kilometers from my apartment. The sun shower had ended, and the sun was shining brighter than ever, shining upon the damp road, creating beautiful psychedelic hues on it.

 

Now knowing where to head, and feeling more secure as I was familiar to this area, I walked my way home.

 

‘A long bath and a long nap would be nice.’

 

I strengthened my grip on my bag strap in a little bit of a childish way. A smile slowly crept up my face.

 

_“Reported from Incheon International Airport, Incheon, South Korea. Han Jumin, the executive director of C &R International, and his wife, have returned to South Korea yesterday. The newlywed couple had been travelling Europe for their honeymoon, following their wedding two weeks a—”_

 

My breath hitched upon the mention of a certain name I knew way too well.

 

Still choking on air, my body trembled in cold terror. I looked up to the big television screen hung on a building in front of me.

 

 _“_ I heard from Twitter that Han Jumin’s wife is a commoner? I’d kill to be as lucky as her, marrying someone filthy rich like him!”

 

“Not to mention his looks are just as perfect! I always found myself drooling over his rare Instagram posts, haha.”

 

 

_“Watch as I love this beautiful woman forever.”_

 

A woman, looking exactly like me, shyly smiling in his direction.

 

Smiling at me.

 

“She is just like a real-life Cinderella, don’t you think?”

 

“She might as well be a mere gold-digger.”

 

“Seriously, can’t they stop talking about them? I hate such women who got to enjoy luxury without even trying.”

 

Why can’t you stop?

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

Crouching down in the center of the busy intersection, I held both side of my heads.

 

I screamed.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

I let out.

 

“STOP IT!!!!!!!!! STOP IT, PLEASE!!!!!”

 

I cried.

 

“Aaaaa… aaaaaahhh……….”

 

I simply cannot go on anymore.

 

The sunshine went away as a crowd of people gathered, surrounding me in a circle. The sky had fallen down. Looking through my hazy, watering eyes, covered by my messy damp hair, I could also see some of them filming me on their smartphones.

 

I looked up.

 

They flinched.

 

“M-mama? Is that that Cinderella on the huge TV?”

 

“O-oi! Look! It’s Han Jumin’s wife!”

 

“Oh my God, she just appeared on TV and now she’s here!”

 

A forceful hand grabbed my arm.

 

“Mrs. Han! Such a pleasure to meet you! How did you get to know him?”

 

“Please introduce me to another billionaire!”

 

Someone pulled my hair.

 

“You gold-digger! How could you two get married in such short time? What did you do to him you lowly bitch!”

 

“Capitalist fuckers enjoying a luxurious life despite of a lot of us living in the hell of poverty!”   


“Who do you think you are to step your filthy muddy shoes in our world just because one of us accidentally fell for you!?”

 

Feeling a strong tug on my collar, I flinched back— and before I knew it, all my buttons were torn off.

 

“I knew it. You did use sex to get his attention, didn’t you? Just like how all women did it like the ungrateful sluts they are!”

 

“No wonder that they got raped and killed on a daily basis. They’re just bunch of useless meat toilets.”

 

Chapped hands groping both of my breasts, dirty fingers with their yellow nails slipping through my bra.

 

Their nails stunk nasty.

 

“How does a silver-spoon cock feel, you little hoe!?”

 

Hands.

 

Hands.

 

“Heyyyy tell me how a billionaire fucks!”

 

Hands. Hands.

 

Hands creeping their way through my inner thighs under my skirt.

 

“I never thought The Almighty Han Jumin’s wife was such a slut. She doesn’t even respond! You must want this, right? You enjoy this, right!?”

 

Fingers stroking a certain part, once hidden, untouched.

 

“Woman’s virginity is her crown! Just as much as she’s merely an object! Do you know where a woman’s value is? Right on the thing they’re touching— between your legs!”

 

I froze.

 

I couldn’t move an inch.

 

I couldn’t even try freeing myself out of those tight grabs around my arms and legs.

 

I couldn’t raise my face.

 

“Mama, let’s get out of here! This is so boring and gross. I want to watch happier show!”

 

I couldn’t see anything.

 

I couldn’t feel anything.

 

“Where’s her purse? There must be valuables in it!”

 

 

 

 

 

I couldn’t breathe.

 

 

 

 

 

“Do you think you can blame us? Or the circumstance? It’s your fault that you walked out here! We are the beasts you have to be wary about in the first place!”

 

People spitting on me. People pouring drinks, throwing rotten food at me.

 

“Why did you even marry Han Jumin!!??”

 

People adoring how they treated me. People recording on their phones. People calling me names. People cheering.

 

“Tell me. TELL ME THAT YOU’RE A FUCKING GREEDY WOMAN!!!”

 

“I’M NOT HEEEERRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

I freed myself out of those hands, body shaking from the shock.

 

I took out the knife I always brought for self-defense from my bag.

 

“JUST HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO FUCKING TELL ALL OF YOU THAT—”

 

Stab!

 

“I’M—”

 

Stab! Stab!

 

“NOT—”

 

Stab! Stab! Stab!

 

“THAT BIIITCCHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

 

Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab! Stab!

 

STAB.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sat alone. Here, in this small pond of blood and unmoving bodies.

 

There was no one.

 

My tears had dried up. My sweat had dried up. As if there was nothing left of me. Blood painted my body as if I were a perfect blank canvas, now hued in the afterimage of wrath. Confusion. Disorder.

 

I stood up, gathering all my remaining, scattered belongings in my sling bag.

 

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness...”

 

I walked towards my apartment.

 

I put on a little smile.

 

“Everything passes.”

 

‘Society’ likes this kind of gesture, right? The act of absolutely accepting everything. The act of self-blame. The act of dismissing everything as if nothing happened.

 

“That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled the truth in this society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell...”

 

They call it mental strength. They call it self-reliance. They call it being ‘human’.

 

“Everything passes...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The quote the main character is reciting in the end of this chapter is from Osamu Dazai’s ‘No Longer Human’ .


	6. 6 p.m.

**simulacra**

 

 

[ˌsim-yə-ˈla-krə,]

_reality_

 

 

**July 8** **th** **2018 – 6.00 p.m.**

 

Three kilometers had never felt this far, yet in the same time, it felt as an eternity passed by in a fragile, transient millisecond.

 

I locked my apartment door, its handle plastered in half-dried bloody fingerprints.

 

Standing idle behind the door, I unlocked my phone, the screen showing many notifications from… RFA Messenger?

 

Seven teasing Yoosung about chocolate milk… Jumin launching another strange cat business project…

 

 

 

Weird. I’m not doing anyone’s route.

 

 

 

Shrugging off the bug, I walked to the living room.

 

The TV was turned on.

 

_“As a result, the prime minister earned himself a warrant for arrest and lost all his privileges as a governmental official, a measurement taken at an unprecedented rate.”_

 

Unable to throw any remarks, I was about to reach out to the remote to change the channel before the news jumped into another subtopic.

 

_“Saeyoung Choi, Choi’s kidnapped son, still remains missing. Choi is vetoing to provide any word on his whereabouts. Next up...”_

 

 _“_ What an unimaginable pleasure it is to see two people you hate the most in this world going against each other, isn’t it?”

 

I looked back at the source of the baritone voice.

 

“I expected a warmer welcome but never mind that. The sight of you all messed up and drenched in blood is much more intriguing than what I expected.”

 

His pinkish white hair was slightly messy, but his gaze pierced through the air, through me, more than anyone ever could wish for, with that pair of teal eyes glowing in the faint glow of the sunset. The sound of his thick soles coming towards me slowly echoing in the room as if the TV was set on mute.

 

Everything was in slow motion, and before I knew it, he stood right in front of me, only an arm’s length between us.

 

Looking at him—the ugly monster beyond salvation that he’s become. The harsh, cruel reality of what the butterfly effect can do for someone was so deep, as if it was stabbing my heart and tearing it open. Yet I was too petrified to do anything besides letting a tear roll down my cheek.

 

“Wow, I haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

 

I smiled.

 

“I know you much better than anyone else… Saeran.”

 

His rage was extremely apparent in his eyes, now burning like a pair of scorching blue flames, to the point that I was able to see a riot inside him. In a swift movement, he took his gun out from his pocket and held me at gunpoint.

 

I could feel the cold metal right against my forehead.

 

But I only felt an overwhelming void. A void like the calm before the storm; like a ticking time bomb more than ready to bring destruction anytime it wanted to.

 

“DON’T— DON’T CALL ME WITH THAT FUCKIN’ NAME!!!! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!!?? WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!!!”

 

Rather than the scream of a frightening antagonist in a play, it was more resembling the cry of a baby, the cry of a cicadas, the lament of the hurt.

 

I didn’t even know what I was doing.

 

Punching him to the ground, I put my fingers on his neck as I choked him, both my hips straddling to keep him on the ground.

 

He screamed. He struggled. He called me names. He called his mom. He said sorry. He called his name. He screamed. He opened his eyes wide, and I could see myself reflected on it.

 

I wasn’t there.

 

“Don’t you think this world is a little bit too cruel for us, Saeran? Moreover… Do you think it’s nice of you to put me through all of this shit? If only I could put an end to this…”

 

I cried my last tear that day.

 

“I would do it in a heartbeat.”

 

Breathing his last breath, his eyes softened, a tear rolled down his cheek— becoming one with mine.

 

I didn’t even bother to think whether it was due to suffocation or the remaining will to live.

 

His tender eyes met mine as he raised his weakening, trembling hand to caress my cheek.

 

“My angel, my miracle… I’ll love you forever.”

 

That was the last thing I wanted to hear from him.

 

“That’s why I’m putting an end to you.”

 

He bloomed in profusion, into a thousand petals of blue roses. Blowing away, as if they were a flock of birds that had finally found their freedom, all over the room. Enveloping my whole existence, every inch of my transience with the intoxicating scent of roses, as if he never did that before.

 

I don’t even know what I’m feeling. I don’t know what I should do. I don’t know how to react. I don’t know how to respond. I don’t know how to feel. I don’t know how it could’ve turned out like this. I don’t know why I felt things I shouldn’t have felt. I don’t know why I wanted to save them. I don’t know why they made me so happy. I don’t know why I download that messenger. I don’t know why I was her. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know.

 

Tell me. Who am I?

 

If I am not her… Then… What the hell kind of a creature am I?

 

“Pathetic. I didn’t even think for one second that someone who could save seven people only by choosing answers through me would be this sick.”

 

She is not me.

 

And I will never be her.

 

“You got the first sentence wrong. I am you. You are the one who will never become me.”

 

I am not the one entering the messenger.

 

I am not the one spending time chatting with them.

 

I am not the one they ask ‘Have you eaten?’ to.

 

I am not the one attending the party and achieving my good ending.

 

I am not the one who became Zen’s manager.

 

I am not the one looking for Saeran together with Saeyoung.

 

I am not the one running the café with Jaehee.

 

I am not the one married to Yoosung.

 

I am not the one waiting for V to come back for two years.

 

I am not the one married to Jumin.

 

I am not the one Saeran promised his four seasons’ love to.

 

I have been, and will always be, not the one they love.

 

 

 

 

And I didn’t realize that.

 

 

 

 

“They can’t even see you. They don’t even know what you look like. They don’t even know your real name. They might not even know you exist alongside me—

 

Do you really think you are their beloved main character?”

 

 

I am not.

 

 

“Listen to me! Listen to me!”

 

She grabbed me by my shoulders with her unbelievably warm hands and with inhumanely strong grip; the melody of her voice resembling an ecstatic child bragging about her new toy.

 

“IT. HAS. ALWAYS. BEEN. ME!!!!”

 

Somewhat maniacal laughter made the room’s temperature drop by two point five degrees— She sure looked prideful for someone who didn’t even have her own free will.

 

She clapped her hands; the palms of her hands getting redder and redder, as if congratulating herself for putting on a good show in her seven completed routes.

 

“I AM THE ONE LOVED BY THEM! I AM THE ONE WHO SAVES THEM OVER AND OVER AGAIN!! I AM THE ONE WHO HOLDS THEIR EXISTENCE IN MY HANDS! I AM YOUR SIMULACRA— nonono, MORE THAN THAT!! I AM THE MAIN CHARACTER IN _YOUR_ STORY AND I ALWAYS WILL BE!!!”

 

Taking a firm look at her face— the face of someone that I hate the most, the same face plastered on my head—for the last time, I slowly took the knife from my bag.

 

No more hesitation.

 

“But I will always be...”

 

 

 

Everything passes.

 

 

 

“Your God.”

 

 

The bloodied knife pierced through me.

 

Through the brittleness of my life.

 

Through both the lies and truth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

What an ugly end suiting a shameful life of a side character.

 


	7. epilogue

**epilogue**

 

 _Unidentified,_ 8.00 a.m.

 

“Mmh… Good morning.”

 

“You’ve woken up, love? Good morning.”

 

“Hmm. Morning violin practice, huh?”

 

“Did I wake you up? I’m sorry. I should’ve chosen a further room or installed a soundproof studio, maybe? Haha.”

 

“Waking up by the melodies of your violin is just the best thing ever, V.”

 

“Thank you for saying so, love.”

 

“...A morning kiss?”

 

“Gladly.”

 

 

 

 

“Mmm… It’s a beautiful morning. It’s going to be a nice day today.”

 

 

 

“Indeed.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

- _fin-_


	8. author note

simulacra  
author note 

Hello, everyone. It’s Vermillion Haired Poet! 

I have been having writer block since five years ago and stopped writing fanfictions few years ago, and it is nice to write again. 

Thank you for reading this fanfiction until the end. How was the ride? 

Personally, I find it difficult to write a fanfiction with such theme. When I got the idea from watching Thor : The Dark World and playing Kaigan Games’ ‘Simulacra’, I was very happy! Finally I’m free from writing block! But the moment I opened my word processor and started writing, it was indeed difficult. But exploring new genres is as fun as it can be and it’s worth the blood, sweat, and tears (lmao).

I will not spill too much about the things happening in the fanfiction here, but I’d like to explain the nature of both realms (Mystic Messenger universe and our universe). 

It’s July 8th, which is Mystic Messenger’s anniversary, and in that day, the Mystic Messenger universe and our universe experience a convergence. That’s why we see Mystic Messenger characters in real life with our MC (or not, depending on the circumstance), with their endings entwined altogether— because I personally always view each endings as a parallel universe and that Mystic Messenger is no way a singular story. 

(So, why the messenger doesn’t work? Because it is supposed to connect us to the character by crossing dimensions. As the border between the universes become blurry, the messenger cannot work.)

This fanfiction is one hell of a ride for me to write, and I hope you enjoy my little writing. Don’t worry, MC’s adventure is our adventure too! She’s just acting a little bit mean in this story, haha. 

And last but not least, Happy Anniversary Mystic Messenger! I never thought that downloading the game out of curiosity would be one of the best decisions in my life, and who thought I’d fall so hard for this game? I wish that this game will keep being showered with all the love and inspiring people. 

 

Vermillion Haired Poet.


End file.
